The summer wore on, and with it the gloom of Stonebridge House sunk
deeper and deeper into our spirits. After a week or two even the sense
of novelty wore off, and we settled down to our drudges' doom as if we
were destined all our lives never to see any place outside the
Henniker's domain.
If it hadn't been for Smith I don't know how I should have endured it.
Not that we ever had much chance of enjoying one another's society. In
school it was wholly impossible. In the playground (particularly after
our recent escapade), we had very little opportunity given us; and at
night, when secretly we did contrive to talk, it was with the constant
dread of detection hanging over us.
What concerned me most of all, though, was the bad way in which Smith
seemed to get on with every one of his schoolfellows except me, and--
perhaps Flanagan. With the bullies, like Philpot and Rathbone, he was
at daggers drawn; towards the others he never took the trouble to
conceal his dislike, while with Hawkesbury an explosion seemed always,
imminent.
I could not understand why he got on so badly, especially with
Hawkesbury, who certainly never made himself disagreeable, but, on the
contrary, always appeared desirous to be friendly. I sometimes thought
Smith was unreasonable to foster his instinctive dislike as he did.
"Jack," said I one night as he was "paying a call" to my bedside--"Jack,
I'm half beginning to think Hawkesbury isn't so bad a fellow after all."
"Why?" demanded Smith.
"Oh, I don't know. He's done me one or two good turns lately."
"What sort?"
"Well, he helped me in the Latin the other day, of his own accord,
and--"
"Go on," said Smith, impatiently.
"And he gave me a knife to-day. You know I lost mine, and he said he'd
got two."
Smith grunted.
"I'd like to catch him doing a good turn to me, that's all," said he.
"_I'd_ cure him of that!"
I didn't like to hear Smith talk like this. For one thing, it sounded
as if he must be a great deal less foolish than I was, which nobody
likes to admit; and for another thing, it seemed wrong and unreasonable,
unless for a very good cause, to persist in believing nothing good about
anybody else.
So I changed the subject.
"I say," said I, "what are you going to do these holidays?"
"Stay here," said he. "Are you going home?"
"What!" I exclaimed. "Stay here for four weeks with the old Hen? Why
ever, Jack?"
"Don't know--but that's what I've got to do. Are you going home?"
"I suppose so," said I, with an inward groan. "But, Jack, what _will_
you do with yourself?"
"Much as usual, I expect. Sha'n't get much practice in talking till you
come back!" added he, with a low laugh.
"Jack, why don't you go home?" I exclaimed. "Are you in a row there,
or what? You never tell me a word about it."
"Look-out, I hear some one moving!" cried Smith, and next moment he was
back in his bed.
I was vexed. For I half guessed this alarm had been only an excuse for
not talking about home, and I didn't like being silenced in that way.
Altogether that night I was a good deal put out with Smith, and when
presently he whispered across "Good-night," I pretended to be asleep,
and did not answer.
But I was not asleep, and could not sleep. I worked myself first into a
rage, then into an injured state, and finally into a miserable condition
over my friend Smith.
Why should he keep secrets from me, when I kept none from him? No, when
I came to think over it, I did not keep a single secret from him! Did
he think I was not to be trusted, or was too selfish to care? He might
have known me better by this time. It was true I had told him my
secrets without his asking for them; in fact, all along he had not
seemed nearly as anxious as I had been for this friendship of ours. My
conscience stung me at this last reflection; and there came upon me all
of a sudden a sense of the utter desolation of this awful place without
a single friend! No, I determined it should take more than a little
pique to make me cast away my only friend. And with the thought, though
it must have been far on in the night, I slipped from my bed and crawled
to his.
He was fast asleep, but at the first touch of my hand he started up and
said, "What's the row?"
"I'm sorry, Jack; but I was in a temper to-night, and couldn't go to
sleep till I made it up."
"A temper! what about?" said he. "I didn't know you were."
"I fancied you wouldn't--that is, that you thought--you didn't trust me,
Jack."
"You're the only fellow I do trust, Fred, there," said he, taking my
arm. Then, with a sigh, he added, "Why shouldn't I?"
"What a beast I was, Jack!" cried I, quite repentant. "I don't--"
"Hush!" said Jack. Then, whispering very close to my ear, he added,
"There are some things, you know, I _can't_ tell even you--about home--"
There was a sound in the room, as of a boy, suddenly aroused, starting
up in his bed. Our blood turned cold, and we remained motionless,
hardly daring to breathe, straining our ears in the darkness.
Suddenly the boy, whoever he was, sprang from his bed, and seizing the
lucifers, struck a light.
It was Hawkesbury! I had almost guessed it. I felt Jack's hand tighten
on my arm as the sudden glare fell full upon us, and Hawkesbury's voice
cried, "Oh, you fellows, what a start you gave me! I couldn't make out
what the talking was. I thought it must be thieves!"
At the same moment the dormitory door opened, and a new glare lit up the
scene. It was Miss Henniker in her dressing-gown, with a candle.
"What, talking? Who was talking?" she said, overhearing Hawkesbury's
last exclamation.
It was a queer picture that moment, and I can recall it even now.
Hawkesbury standing in his night-shirt in the middle of the room. I, as
lightly clad, crouching transfixed beside my friend's bed, who was
sitting up with his hand on my arm. And the Henniker there at the door,
in her yellow-and-black dressing-gown and curl-papers, holding her
candle above her head, and looking from one to the other.
"Who was talking?" she demanded again, turning to Hawkesbury.
Hawkesbury, smiling, returned to his bed, as he replied, "Oh, nothing.
I think I must have been dreaming, and woke in a fright."
But as he spoke his eyes turned to us two, and Miss Henniker's followed
naturally. Then the whole truth dawned upon her.